Cindy Pon - Silver Phoenix

The eunuchs said the windows were ceiling height to allow the concubines their privacy, but Jin Lian knew it was also a way to keep them trapped. These quarters had walls taller than any courtyard tree. No one could survive the drop to the other side. Not that any concubine in possession of her wits would ever attempt to escape the Palace—or her duties to the Emperor.

Jin Lian pushed the tray of rice porridge and pickled cucumbers away. The ache in her swollen belly robbed her of any appetite. Her devoted handmaid, Hong Yu, eased her onto the platform bed, one firm hand beneath her elbow. The girl rearranged the silk drapes to encourage air flow. But the night was hot and still.

Jin Lian found it impossible to get comfortable in her expansive nest littered with plump cushions and tangled sheets. She curled onto her side and clutched the gold-brocaded coverlet in sweaty fists. Hong Yu, her brow knitted with worry, fanned her with rapid movements. Jin Lian attempted a smile, but failed.

Instead she concentrated on her breathing, as Royal Physician Wu had advised. Hong Yu offered cool jasmine tea and wiped her brow with a cold cloth scented with mint and cucumber. The smell soothed Jin Lian, until another pain seized her stomach and radiated across her lower back.

She grabbed the girl’s hand. “Please ask Hei Po to come—” Unable to continue, Jin Lian closed her eyes to the pain. Time spiraled away from her. She was aware of nothing beyond the ragged sound of her own breath.

Then cool hands pressed upon her fiery belly, gently on top and along the sides. “He’s in good position, dropped low, ready to enter this world, mistress,” Hei Po said. “He arrives early.”

Four weeks early.

Jin Lian did not open her eyes. She’d recognize her old nursemaid’s voice anywhere. Her breath came in short bursts now, but she managed, “You said he.”

“Merely a guess, child. It will be time to push soon.”

Hei Po motioned to Hong Yu. “Girl, prepare the water as I instructed.” The handmaid scrambled, as if afraid the baby would drop out at that very moment.

The pressure became unbearable. Jin Lian heard herself moan and gasp, unable to control the physical responses of her body. Improper. Unladylike. She should be embarrassed. These inner thoughts trickled, became muted.

Hei Po stroked her hand. “The pain brings your baby into this world. Just breathe and push when the moment comes.” The midwife’s words tumbled against her ear.

Jin Lian did not know how much time passed. The agony washed over her now in waves.

“It’s time,” Hei Po said.

Hong Yu stood behind the midwife. When had she returned?

“Bear down when you feel another constriction, Xiao Lian,” Hei Po said. The childhood pet name surprised Jin Lian, comforted her.

She pushed. She felt the baby twist. Felt it move through her body. Emerge. There was a tremendous sense of release. An insistent wail filled the room. Jin Lian’s heart swelled and ached all at once.

“Is it a girl or a boy?” Jin Lian finally found her weak voice.

Her chest seized when she saw the expression on Hei Po’s face. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No, he’s perfect.”

A boy.

His hair was light brown, with a golden tint under the blazing lanterns. Blood thundered in her ears. He opened his swollen eyes, as if sensing her. They were golden, too, tinged with a dark tea green.

He was one of mixed blood, half Xian and half foreign. Not the Emperor’s son.

What have we done?

Jin Lian sobbed as she clutched her son. But she couldn’t allow herself the luxury of crying long. Master Zhong checked on her progress daily, anticipating the birth of a son—the Emperor’s son. He kept spies everywhere. She needed to act fast if she wanted her baby to live.

“Hei Po, stay within my quarters. No one expected the babe to arrive this early. No one can know.”

The gray-haired woman nodded. Her wizened face betrayed nothing. Jin Lian knew she tested her old nursemaid’s loyalty. Hei Po could be killed for aiding her in this deception. But this was the woman who had brought her into the world with loving hands, who had cared for her as a child. Who could Jin Lian trust if not her dear beloved Hei Po?

“Hong Yu, find Master Wen.”

Despite her youth, Hong Yu knew enough of Palace intrigue to understand the danger. Could Jin Lian trust this girl with her son’s life? With her own? She had no choice.

The handmaid scrambled to the door.

“No. Not that way.”

Jin Lian pressed one of the lotuses carved upon the intricate camphor-wood headboard. A hidden door eased open by her side. “Through here. Keep straight, you’ll pass three openings before you make a right on the fourth. This will take you into Master Wen’s quarters. Knock once, pause, then knock three more times at the passage door. Bring a lantern.”

The secret panel shut behind Hong Yu without a noise.

The babe’s face screwed up. He was intent on wailing again, as if he felt his mother’s anxiety. She guided him to her breast. His head wobbled as he nudged his pink face against her chest. He found her nipple and began to suckle, making small contented noises as he nursed.

Hot tears fell on his chubby arm, unhindered. Jin Lian knew this was the last time she would hold him, stroke his smooth cheeks, and breathe in his sweet scent. Assuming either of them survived the night.

The book lay heavy in Ai Ling’s lap, so massive it covered her thighs. She pressed her knees together, for fear the tome would crash to the ground otherwise. Bound in a brocaded cover of rich crimson, characters embroidered in gold read The Book of Making . She didn’t want to open it.

“Take a look.” Mother inclined her head. Black hair spilled over her shoulders in thick cascades, and the subtle scent of gardenia oil drifted with her every movement. Ai Ling rarely saw her mother’s hair loose. She looked beautiful.

Ai Ling let the book fall open to a random page. Her face flushed at what she saw—a man and woman stark naked, their limbs entwined. THE DANCE OF THE CRANES was printed neatly above in black ink.

“Mother . . .” She could not bring herself to meet her mother’s gaze.

“Keep looking, Ai Ling. This book is informative, with all the things you need to know about the bedchamber and what it takes to pleasure your husband.”

Her mother put a gentle hand over hers. Ai Ling had always admired her mother’s slender fingers, so deft in embroidering and playing the lute.

“It’s soon time for you to wed. It’s been one year since your monthly letting began.” Her mother flipped the pages, and more nude figures filled Ai Ling’s vision. “It tells you how to gauge your most fertile days, which positions are best—”

“But you didn’t have me until you were twenty-four years!” Ai Ling wanted to slam the book shut, even as she was riveted to the drawings on the page. The only color came from the lotus pink of the woman’s lips and the tips of her breasts.

“I married late, my heart.” Ai Ling’s mother stroked her hair, tucked a strand behind her ear. “It wasn’t that your father and I didn’t try. We lost one before we were blessed with you. He was born still—without spirit.”